WWCBD?

It must be noted that as I was walking towards the 15th arrondisement on Monday morning, my body and mind still somewhat hazy from a weekend of pique-niquing and regrouping from donkeys and couscous, I was very abruptly and quite undesirably thrust into a moral dilemma.

I can safely say that throughout my life I have tried to do “the right thing.” It is my hope that I have more than wing sprouts by the time I meet my maker. Yet there are those moments that test you, your strength, and your judgment. Whereas I typically like to keep these moments to myself, this one is worthy of mention for two reasons. First and foremost, it embodies the glamour of Paris. Secondly, it makes me love my husband even more.

As so it goes. I was strolling past the Bastille metro stop, ipod tuned to Beyonce, when I notice a black pump on the sidewalk. It is no ordinary shoe however, and the cherry red sole instantaneously pulls me out of my fog, as any Louboutin should do. One, fine. Half a pair is good for nothing more than a chic doorstop or perhaps a high-end doggie chew toy. But as it would be, not a foot (pun intended) away, was its twin. Its soul mate (yep, attended again). What to do? A girl dreams of a day when her luck would be such, yet there was this little part of me advising me to walk away, as there is a rightful owner somewhere (hopefully not in a dumpster). So, I text my more thoughtful half as I am grappling with morality. His noteworthy response? “At moments like this you need to ask yourself: WWCBD?”. And so I used that wisdom as my guidance, and put myself in the mindset of fashionista and do-gooder, Carrie Bradshaw.

My conclusion: she would kick herself (probably in Manolo’s), but come to the conclusion that although it would have been quite a way to start the week, they should be left for others to salivate over, and the rightful owner to eventually claim (as it was most likely noodles for a month to slip those suckers on). It makes me sad to think that they may be gracing the feet of another passer by, but at least I know that Carrie would be proud of me, as was my husband. More importantly, now my Fitflops won’t get jealous.